


Telepathic Heart

by Dixon_Winchester



Category: Supernatural, The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gaming AU, Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, Splash of Romance, That becomes something more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-03-01 19:08:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13301337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dixon_Winchester/pseuds/Dixon_Winchester
Summary: Gaming!AU. They don't know each other's names, much less what the other looks like, but that doesn't stop Dean and Daryl from growing closer and closer. It's only a matter of time before long distance just isn't enough.





	1. Part I - IMPALA_2Y5

IMPALA_2Y5: Nice shot

That’s the simple message sent to him. Daryl blinks, squinting his eyes at the words, the TV screen illuminating the otherwise dark room. He glances back over his shoulder at Rick, the other boy curled up under the sheets and already sound asleep, like any sane seventeen year old with school tomorrow would be.

He purses his lips, staring at the screen for a moment longer. What the heck, Daryl shrugs, typing back a brief message. At least this player isn’t insulting the heck out of him.

CROSSBOW-SAINTS: thanks

The Dixon gets back to the game, waiting for the session to start when the corner of his screen notifies him of another message, surprised when he realizes it’s the same player.

IMPALA_2Y5: you new at this game?

This time, Daryl doesn’t take half as long to respond.

CROSSBOW-SAINTS: yeh

IMPALA_2Y5: 4 how long?

CROSSBOW-SAINTS: 2 weeks

The player sends another response, but the session had just begun and Daryl focuses his attention on shooting down his opponents. When a character runs across his screen with the words IMPALA_2Y5, he can’t help the way his eyes track it, grinning softly to himself when the player’s character offers him a thumbs up. And just like that, the two stay on the same team for the rest of the night, playing session after session.

It’s only when IMPALA_2Y5 sends him another message that Daryl belatedly realizes he had never responded to that other one.

IMPALA_2Y5: Not much 4 messging huh?

IMPALA_2y5: *messaging

For some reason that makes Daryl crack a small smile.

 

* * *

 

“Dude, you’re not even playing. What are you doing?”

The older Winchester glances over his shoulder at his brother, Sam, the remote on his lap, fingers on the buttons, and a message ready to be sent.

“I am,” Dean retorts, green eyes returning to the screen. “Just messaging someone real quick.”

Sam doesn't bother answering, shrugging his shoulders as he opens his book to read. “Dude, check this,” he grins, shuffling with his elbows towards the edge of the bed, and once he’s there he reads out a funny comment written on the page. He doesn’t like when students write in their textbooks, but this shit is funny. He can barely get the last word out without laughing, but when he doesn’t hear the same laughter from his brother, who would laugh his head off with comments found in the book, Sam regards him with a worried expression.

“Dean, you ok?” Sam can't help but ask, reaching out to touch Dean’s shoulder.

The older Winchester looks over at Sam again, eyes locking with hazel for a brief moment. “Yeah-” Dean doesn’t finish what he’s saying, looking over at the screen again to be able to read the message sent to him by CROSSBOW-SAINTS.

Dean doesn’t see the eyeroll sent his way. The younger brother drops onto his back, deciding to leave Dean alone. Apparently he's busy talking to his new friend.

The bright light that flashes across their window prompts both brothers to look up. Dean is quickly hopping up to his feet, while Sam practically almost eats the floor trying to scramble from on top the bed.

“Son of a bitch, it's dad,” Dean curses under his breath when he recognizes the Impala parking just outside their motel room.

Sam turns to Dean, gesturing with wild hands at the gaming system. “Hide it,” he insist, not wanting to see their father unleash his wrath on Dean if he catches him playing it.

After all, he didn’t buy it for them, the older Winchester stealing the gaming system, and John would not approve of them wasting time on something like playing games when they should be doing something more efficient, like training to become the next marines. John has it in his head that nothing else is more important, not even school and it would be a shame if they don’t follow in his footsteps. While Dean falls into this kind of obedient dog brainwashed by their father to follow his every command without question, Sam wants to go to college. That’s the reason why he studies at night, taking advantage when John is away on his long weekends. But if he has to be fair, John gives him much more slack than he gives Dean, and while Dean can’t see anything else for his future because of it, Sam, on the other hand, can. He’s tried to gear Dean away, but Sam thinks it’s too late, John has programmed it into Dean’s head, and it’s not going anywhere. The same thing could be said about Dean looking after him, but that's something on an entirely different level.

The older Winchester is moving, grabbing the controller and telling CROSSBOWS-SAINTS he needs to go, but the pounding at the front door tells Dean he has little time to send a simple message. If John is drunk and he sees him with the gaming system he’s not going to like it. John has never been a happy drunk and no one wants to see him when he gets angry.

Hearing the knocking on the door, Dean knows it’s going to be too late, and if he takes too long to open, that will only make John angerier. Luckily, Sam is next to him, urging Dean to open the door and he will take care of the gaming system. Dean offers Sam a small smile before he leaves the task to his younger brother.

“Sir,” Dean greats when he opens the door.

John looks down at his son, a frown painted on his lips and the smell of alcohol clinging to him like a second skin. He doesn’t say anything as he steps into the room, almost taking Dean with him if the older Winchester hadn’t moved from in front of him. Closing the door, Dean follows his father, sweat starting to form on his skin as John makes his way towards the small bed on the side.

To Dean’s relief, Sam has packed the console away and is under the sheets, ‘asleep’. He knows his brother enough to know he’s not sleeping. Three factors: one, he was up seconds ago, two, Sam is still fully dressed in his school uniform meaning he didn’t even take a shower yet, and three, Sam sleeps on his back, usually with one hand draped over his stomach if not both, however, now he’s laying on his side, back facing John and him.

Sam knows better than to be awake at this time. It would spell trouble for him, and especially for Dean. John slowly turns to face Dean, the boy’s eyes downcast as he waits for his father’s reaction. He can feel the man looking over the place, but Dean is sure everything is as it should be. The dishes are washed, the clothes are clean and folded, and those that needed ironing without a wrinkle in sight, and Sam is fed and in bed.

The Winchester doesn’t say anything, just walks over towards Sam, ruffles his messy hair before he shrugs off his clothes, letting it drop onto the floor, kicking off his shoes before dropping onto the bed.

“Night, dad,” Dean whispers as he picks up the clothes John left on the floor, knowing that if he leaves them there John’s not going to happy about it.

Glancing over at the small safe each motel provides, Dean knows that’s where Sam hid the game. He’s tempted to connect again, wanting to talk to CROSSBOW-SAINTS, but he knows better. John would break it the moment he sees it.

Dean finishes cleaning up the place and locks down before he lays down next to Sam.

 

* * *

 

Daryl winces, the fingers brushing against the bruise blossoming under his right eye making it sting something awful.

“That looks like it hurts,” Rick frowns, brows furrowed in worry, though his expression is hard to see with the sun shining bright behind him.

“Then stop touchin’ it,” Daryl returns, squinting up at his friend, but that only makes his bruise sting again.

Rick’s lips are pressed into a firm line, “Don’t know why you don’t just call the cops on him.”

“Rick,” the Dixon frowns, reaching up to swat the other boy’s hand away. “Just got one year before I get the hell outta dodge. I can handle it. Been doin’ it all my life.”

Rick releases a defeated sigh, “It’s cause Merle isn’t around anymore, huh?”

The Dixon purses his lips, pointedly looking away from the other boy to the school’s track field.

“Rick!” a voice calls out from behind them, both boys glancing up to see Shane approaching them, shirt clinging to his sweaty skin.

“Still on for tonight, right?” Walsh inquires as he comes to a stop in front of Rick, gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder at Lori, the girl lingering on the field, arms crossed over her chest as she watches them.

“Nah, sorry, have plans with Daryl,” Grimes answers, Daryl not missing the way Shane sends a glare his way. “Welcome to come join us. Lori too.”

Shane doesn’t even bother to acknowledge Rick’s invitation, “Had plans with us first.”

“I know and I’m sorry, but something came up,” the curly haired boy shrugs, Shane once again shooting Daryl an annoyed look. “Make it up to you guys. Lori’s been wanting to go to that new museum, right? Let’s go tomorrow.”

The offer seems to placate Shane, though the pinched look on his face doesn’t leave. “We’ll see,” he responds curtly before turning on his heels to head back towards Lori, hand coming up to rub at his head.

Daryl snorts, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees, “Don’t bother. Go hang with your friends tonight.”

Rick glances over his shoulder at Daryl, “You’re my friend too. Besides, not letting you go home after he gave you a shiner.”

“Shane’s been yours since you were kids,” the Dixon shrugs, not bothering to argue with Rick.

“So have you,” Grimes counters, tilting his head to the side. “You, me, Shane. What happen-”

Rick doesn’t get to finish his question, a whistle cuts through the air, the coach letting it drop down to his chest when he catches the attention of his students, “Come on. One more lap.”

Grateful for the distraction, Daryl pushes up from the bench, heading back out to the track, Rick jogging along behind him.

 

* * *

 

That evening finds Daryl laying on his stomach, head propped up on a pillow as Rick furiously taps away on his controller. He watches as Rick’s character is shot from behind, then riddled with bullets.

“Damn it,” Grimes frowns, glancing down at the Dixon beside him. “These spammers annoy the hell out of me.” The game returns to the lobby, the spammer leaving the game session and earning a huff from Rick. “Was gonna go after him next.”

Another player joins the lobby, the ID familiar to Daryl.

_IMPALA_2Y5_

“Hey, ain’t that your friend?” Grimes asks, glancing over at Daryl again. Apparently the ID is familiar to Rick as well.

“Mmm,” the Dixon shrugs.

“Yeah, I’m sure it is,” Rick continues. “The one you’re always talking to.”

The Dixon furrows his brows, “Don’t talk to ‘em.”

“Yeah, you do,” Grimes snorts. “I see his ID flash with messages to you all the time, Daryl.”

Daryl hugs the pillow closer to himself, “Just happen to get online at the same time.”

“And join the same lobby and play on the same team and send messages back and forth all night,” Rick chuckles. “Think if I send him a friend request he’d accept?”

Daryl glances up at Grimes at that, “Don’t know.”

“Probably would if I tell ‘em you're my friend,” Rick muses. “Here,”he says, logging out of his account and switching over to Daryl’s before handing the controller over. “Probably waiting for you to get online.”

“Nah, he -” Daryl starts before Grimes cuts him off by jumping up from the bed.

“Gonna order pizza,” Rick states, waving at Daryl to go ahead and play as he slips out of the room.

Turning his attention back to the screen, the Dixon bites down on his bottom lip to stop himself from smiling as a message from IMPALA_2Y5 arrives.

 

* * *

 

Rick glances up from his phone when he realizes Daryl seems to still be waiting in a lobby, the answer as to why coming to him in the form of a reply message from IMPALA_2Y5.

Grimes rolls over onto his back, “Wouldn’t it be easier to just talk to him?”

“Hm?” Daryl grunts, barely sparing him a glance as he works on typing out a reply.

“You’re just sitting there writing to him,” Rick observes before he reaches over to his nightstand and grabs his headset, tossing it over at the foot of the bed where the Dixon is sitting. “Use that, that way you can play and talk to him and I won’t be tempted to read everything.”

Daryl glances down at the headset but makes no move to grab it as he glances back up at the TV, “No.”

Rick shrugs, “Have it your way.”

The Dixon puts down the controller then and gets up, slipping out of the room, Rick hearing as the bathroom door down the hall is pulled shut. The opportunity presents itself and Rick wastes not time launching himself over to grab the controller, typing out his own message.

CROSSBOW-SAINTS: got a mic?

Rick keeps his ears open for any sign of Daryl returning, wishing for the player to just hurry up and respond.

IMPALA_2Y5: yes

CROSSBOW-SAINTS: me 2

Rick is grinning ear to ear, scurrying to connect the headset just as he hears the bathroom door open. He leaves the headset on the edge of the bed and scoots to where he had been before, trying to appear as normal as possible as the Dixon enters the room.

Daryl plops down at the edge of the bed, grabbing the remote before he pauses, no doubt noticing that his ID has a flashing icon beside it. Realization sets in and he only manages to glance over at Rick before a voice filters through the TV’s speakers, making the Dixon freeze.

IMPALA_2Y5: “Hello?”

Daryl sucks in a deep breath, sitting like a deer in the headlights even though the player can’t see him.

IMPALA_2Y5: “Hello? Can you hear me?”

The voice is like smooth velvet, despite the slight static of the headset. He sounds young and Daryl finds himself wishing for him to be the same age, if not at least close enough.

Rick crawls forward, grabbing the headset and handing it to Daryl, hissing under his breath, “Answer him.”

The Dixon turns to level a glare at his friend, Rick not regretting his actions one bit as he moves to settle the headset over Daryl’s head for him since the boy hasn’t moved to do so yet.

Daryl swats Grime’s hands away, noting belatedly that the shuffling on their end could be heard. Damn it.

CROSSBOW-SAINTS: “H-hello?”

The Dixon hates how his voice had broken, even more annoyed at his hushed tone.

IMPALA_2Y5: “Hey man.”

Daryl glances over at Rick, the other boy motioning for him to keep talking, but what the hell is he supposed to say?

CROSSBOW-SAINTS: “Hey, uh, you’re a guy.”

The Dixon mentally kicks himself, not having to glance over at Rick to know the boy is giving him an incredulous look before he breaks out into a fit of laughter, falling off the edge of the bed.

CROSSBOW-SAINTS: “Not that I thought you were a chick or nothin’. Just - crap, I don’t know. Ain’t makin’ sense. Just forget it.”

IMPALA_2Y5: “Can’t tell if you’re a chick or not.” The voice comes in, light and humorous. “So, are you a chick?” He snickers, but he doesn’t let Daryl answer as he continues to speak. “Nah, man, just pulling your leg. I didn’t expect you to be so forward about the mic thing. I've been meaning to ask you, but…” The voice trails off before he speaks up again, “Thought I might scare you off or something.”

Daryl throws a glance at Rick, narrowing his eyes at the boy as Grimes clamps his mouth shut from where he is sitting on the floor and shrugs.

“You guys should thank me then,” Rick whispers, wagging his brows in emphasis.

The Dixon lifts his foot and shoves Rick back onto the floor, only earning another round of suppressed laughter from the boy.

CROSSBOW-SAINTS: “I, uh, thought it might be easier this way. Y’know, talk ‘n play.” He bites down on his bottom lip, “Ain’t scaring ya off, am I?”

IMPALA_2Y5: “No man, like I said, I’ve been meaning to ask about the mic thing. You just didn’t seem like the type to want to talk like this. I’m glad we’re able to,” the voice says soothingly.

CROSSBOW-SAINTS: “Me too,” he says too quickly before he clears his throat, feeling his cheeks heat up at the sound of that voice. “Glad too, I mean. Ain’t as bad as I thought it would be.” The Dixon purses his lips then, glancing down at the controller in his hands. The guy really does sound genuinely happy about it, but the Dixon hadn’t even been the one to consider the headset and for some reason, making him believe so feels like a lie to Daryl. A lie he’s unable to keep up. “I...you’re right. I ain’t the type. My friend made me do it, but I...I’m really glad he did.”

Daryl chances a glance at Rick, surprised to find the other boy staring at him as if in awe about something.

IMPALA_2Y5: “Really now?” Daryl can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Tell your friend thanks for me. He’s like my wingman, huh?”

Rick grins at that, the chuckles escaping him as Daryl is left sputtering.

“I like this guy,” Grimes laughs, climbing back up onto the bed and dropping flat onto his back, not catching the light blush spreading across Daryl’s face.

_Yeah, I do too._

 

* * *

 

To say Daryl had really come around to using the headset would be an understatement. Every time he plays, he’s always chatting away with IMPALA_2Y5, Rick watching on in amazement.

Daryl isn’t much of a talker and even less with strangers, and yet here he is looking forward to his talks with this guy. It’s easy for Rick to see with the way the Dixon has been staying over by him more often than not these days. Not that Rick is complaining. It means Daryl is out of his house and away from his father and that is enough for him.

Slouching in the dining room chair, Rick is unable to focus on his textbook, glancing over at Daryl to find him slumped over his books, face buried in his folded arms. Homework is either really boring or the Dixon is tired and Rick knows which one it is. If he stops staying up all night talking to Impala he wouldn’t be so damn sleepy.

Rick reaches out and pokes the Dixon’s arm with his pen, “Hey, wake up sleepyhead.”

Daryl grumbles, burying his face deeper as he tries to get back to sleep.

Grimes taps his pen on his textbook before he speaks up again, “What’s his name?”

Daryl is silent, still slumped over before he glances up at Rick through his messy bangs, “What?”

“Impala’s,” Grimes clarifies. “What’s his name?” At the furrow of Daryl’s brow, Rick sits up straight. “Wait, you don’t know? Are you serious?”

The Dixon lifts his head, resting his chin on his hand, “Why would I know his name?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that you’ve been talking to the guy every night for the past six months,” Grimes supplies, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Thought you both woulda already known each other’s names.”

The Dixon shakes his head, “Stranger danger, Rick. Might talk to the guy, but he don’t know nothin’ ‘bout me.”

Rick hums. That’s actually a good thing, he muses. “It’s just your name,” he comments before he shrugs. “With how much you guys talk, I just thought you’d both be way past that.”

“Past what?” Daryl inquires, scrunching up his nose. “Why you gotta make it sound like that?”

Grimes blinks, “Like what?”

“You know how you’re makin’ it sound,” Daryl waves his hand in the air as if that would help Rick understand.

A sly smirk graces Rick’s features as he crosses his arms on the table and leans forward towards Daryl, “I don’t. Tell me, Daryl. Like what? Like you guys like talking to each other? Like you guys have become really good friends? Like you spend a whole lot of time flir-”

“Yeah, like that,” the Dixon cuts him off. “Cut it out,” he demands before he turns his attention to his homework, ignoring the smug grin plastered on Rick’s face.

 

* * *

 

“What is wrong with you, Dean?”

Standing with a pistol in his hands, aiming at the cans lined up along the fence is Dean, his father standing a few feet behind him with his arms crossed over his chest, a disapproving frown on his lips. The sun is barely out, John using what little time he gives the boys for training early in the morning. It’s the only time Dean sees his father sober and without a beer in his hands trying to forget about everything. Sam is left behind in the motel room, most of the time sleeping and only needing to wake up to lock the door.

“I’m just tired, sir,” Dean responds, glancing over his shoulder and wincing when he sees the disapproving frown on his dad’s face.

He can hear the words already, failure, not good enough, you need to get better, but Dean’s head is reeling so much he can’t concentrate. He’s struggling as it is to keep his eyes open, and his aim is shit at best. As much as John prides him on his marksmanship, it's never good enough, and he wants more, and right now, his father just sees him as a failure.

The unexpected shove makes Dean’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second, John yanking the gun from between his fingers and quickly firing a shot without aiming as if to prove a point. The bullet barely grazes the soda can set up as the target. The way his father’s nose flares indicates to Dean that John is upset he had missed, not surprising since the man had surely been trying to show off.

“Stop disappointing me,” John coldly states while shoving the gun back into Dean’s unwaiting hands. The fact that he almost drops it has John tilt his head to the side in annoyance, the disapproving look in his eyes never leaving. “What the hell am I raising?” he mumbles as he steps behind Dean again.

Staying up late to talk to CROSSBOW-SAINTS drains him the next day. Though he’s used to little sleep, his father’s training is starting to wear his body down to the bones. He finds himself sluggish, almost lifeless.

Any sane person would cut ties or make their meetings shorter, but… - Dean licks his lips as he takes aim… - talking to the other player distracts his mind from everything, and he feels normal, like he’s allowed to have friends, can communicate like a human being and is not some kind of freak. Dean pulls the trigger, the bullet blazing out of the barrel of the gun and hitting the soda can dead center before it falls off the edge of the fence.

Dean looks over his shoulder at John, a smile on his lips, expecting to see his father proud, but the man’s expression is stoic, arms still folded over his chest. Green eyes drift away from John’s as the smile that had worked it’s way onto his face drops.

Slowly, John make his way over to Dean, the same expression still on his face. “I don’t want this to happen again. After school I want you to step up, you’re starting to slack and it’s affecting the family. Don’t be so damn selfish,” the oldest Winchester chastises as he places a hand on Dean’s shoulder and guides him towards the Impala.

Dean doesn’t speak up, only mumbles under his breath a “Yes sir” as he gets into the car and closes the door.

John circles the car and sits in the driver's seat. He glances at his older son, noting the lost look in his eyes. He’s tempted to speak up, but that would only make Dean weak. The boy is not a baby. He can’t have that in this family- especially not for Dean. He’s the one who will redeem his name, and go on to being a top notch Marine.

Sam though, from the get-go he knew he would be different. When he had asked for a computer instead of a gun like Dean had, John already knew things would be completely different for Sam. He allowed Sam some slack, much more than he would give Dean, and it seems it’s biting him in the ass now. The kid is smart, but a Winchester has no business in college. Their role lies in the marines. At least he’s still got one son that understands that.

 

* * *

 

Rick brushes the sweat off his brow, leaning forward to catch his breath. The sun is merciless, beating down on them as the coach makes them run laps around the track again. If only the school had funding for proper gym supplies, then they wouldn't be stuck out here.

"Tired already?" Shane grins, slapping Grimes on the shoulder before he jogs on by.

Rick grunts, straightening up and glancing over to the bleachers, gaze landing on a certain blue eyed boy. Daryl isn't one to join in on much, but the look on his face is enough to worry Rick.

Glancing around for the coach, Rick jogs off the field and up the bleachers, Daryl glancing up at him as he plops down on the cool metal beside him.

"Hey, what's the matter?" Rick inquires, bumping his shoulder with his friends. Daryl ducks his head, bangs falling across his face as he shrugs, but Rick doesn't let him close himself off. "Your frown is deeper than usual. What's up?"

The Dixon purses his lips, gaze sweeping over the field as he answers, "He wants to meet."

Rick blinks, his brain filling in the blanks for him, "Impala?"

Daryl nods, “Talkin’ ‘bout stuff. Don’t even remember what anymore, but he...didn't sound too good. Could tell something was up. Told me he was goin’ through a lot of shit but that talkin’ to me made ‘em feel better.” He bites down on his bottom lip then, Rick studying the Dixon’s profile as the boy seems resolute on not looking at Grimes directly. “Don’t know what came over me, but I said that if I were there with ‘em, he could talk to me whenever he wanted to.” Daryl finally turns his head to meet Rick’s gaze, “He said ok.”

“Ok?” Grimes repeats, furrowing his brows.

Daryl nods, “Ok, like, ok let’s do it.”

“Daryl,” Rick winces at how firm his tone had sounded.

“I know, Grimes, I ain’t stupid,” the Dixon frowns, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as one hand comes up so that he can bite the side of his thumb. “Don’t know nothin’ ‘bout ‘em. Don’t know his name. What he looks like. Where he lives. Don’t know nothin’ and I...I-”

A snort resounds from behind them, both boys glancing up to see Shane standing on the steps to the bleacher they’re on.

"Figures the weirdo would spend all his time playing stupid games," Walsh rolls his eyes.

"Shane," Rick frowns, lips pressed into a thin line as he narrows his eyes at the other boy.

Shane ignores the warning in Rick’s voice, "What's the matter, Dixon? Scared the guy will be weirder than you?"

Daryl’s face is carefully blank, blue eyes narrowed at Shane.

“Probably some 40-year-old fatass that lives in his momma’s basement,” Walsh continues. “Talking to lil’ idiot boys like you.”

Rick sets his jaw, “Shane.”

“Or maybe he’s some 8-year-old psycho ass kid. Didn’t realize jailbait was your thing,” Shane snorts. “Bet you-”

“Shane, that’s enough,” Grimes snaps, standing up to face his friend eye to eye. “We get it, so cut it out already.”

Shane lifts his hands in a placating manner, taking a step back from Rick, “Settle down there, Rick. Watchin’ out for Dixon, is all.”

At the sound of movement behind him, Rick glances over his shoulder to see Daryl hopping down the bleacher seats before jumping down onto the field, never once turning back towards them as he marches his way back towards the school.

Rick turns his attention to Shane, the other boy also having caught Daryl’s exit before he turns back to Rick.

“What?” Shane shrugs. “You wanna ditch me and Lori to hang out with him? Fine, I’ll help you out. Give Dixon a reality check so you can stop fuckin’ babysitting him.”

With that, Shane turns on his heels and heads back down towards the field, leaving Rick to release a heavy sigh as he places his hands on his hips and shakes his head.

 

* * *

 

They’re quiet the whole way there, Rick sneaking quick glances at Daryl, the other boy leaning against the passenger door. Today is the day and Rick can tell the Dixon is nervous with the way he chews on his thumbnail, blue eyes focused on the road.

Impala lives pretty far from them, Rick on the road for two hours, Impala having to cross relatively the same distance to arrive at the meeting spot both he and Daryl designated.

Pulling into the parking lot of a diner, Rick glances at the customers inside through the huge window, going as far as to stick his head out the driver’s side as curiosity wins him over, but it’s a lost cause. He doesn’t have the slightest idea of what the guy looks like and neither does Daryl.

“Thanks,” the Dixon speaks up, attention trained on the diner just as Rick’s had been.

“Don’t mention it,” Grimes shrugs, cutting off the engine. “How are you gonna know it’s him?”

“He’s gonna have his controller,” Daryl informs his friend, teeth still chewing on his thumb as his gaze sweeps over the outside of the diner again.

Rick blinks, “His what?”

“His controller,” Daryl answers, finally sparing Rick a glance as he pulls out his own from the pocket of his hoodie.

Rick snorts, “Are you serious?”

The Dixon shrugs, “Couldn’t think of much else. Besides, I’ll definately know it’s him cause who the heck walks ‘round with a controller?”

“You two, apparently,” Grimes chuckles, but it immediately dies in his throat when he realizes Daryl isn’t laughing. He isn’t even smiling.

Daryl bites at the skin of his thumb, wincing when he draws blood and only then seemingly realizing just how hard he had been chewing at it. He takes in a deep breath, Rick tempted to say something before the Dixon beats him to it.

“What if...what if Shane is right and he-”

“You’re already here. Find out for yourself. I’ve got your back,” Rick assures before he adds. “Unless you want me to wait here. I unders-”

“No, it’s fine,” the Dixon shakes his head. “You can come with.”

Rick nods and slips out of the car, falling in step with Daryl, giving the Dixon credit when he doesn’t hesitate to pull the door open and step in. The same can’t be said a moment later when Daryl freezes at the doorway, shoulders tense as his blue eyes glance over the occupants of the diner.

When Daryl remains standing there, even when a hostess moves to help them, Rick steps up to tell her they’re here to meet someone. She gives them a funny look when they can’t tell her who or what he even looks like.

Glancing over the people at the diner, Rick’s gaze lands on a man sitting by himself in the corner. He’s rather large, his button down shirt straining to contain his stomach as he takes another bite of his burger.

“Daryl, 10 o'clock,” Grimes speaks up, tapping Daryl’s shoulder to get his attention. “What about that fat guy?”

Daryl scrunches up his nose, throwing a look at Rick over his shoulder, “Ain’t no controller by him.”

“Aright,” Grimes agrees, deciding not to note the relief on Daryl’s face that the guy isn’t Impala. “What about that one?” he asks not a minute later, pointing out another man sitting alone at a booth.

For a man looking to be at least in his forties, he isn’t that bad looking. Hair slicked back and a clean shaven face. The man seems to be looking around for something, both Daryl and Rick holding their breaths when his gaze lands on them. Except, it isn’t really on them, but on the hostess from before as she steps around the two gawking boys to see what the man needed.

“Huh,” Rick hums, “Doesn’t have a controller either.”

Grimes purses his lips. It can be anyone really, a simple controller the only distinction. Could be that old man making his way back from the bathroom. Or that kid sitting towards the front, brown hair falling across his hazel eyes as he divides his attention between a book and his milkshake.

“It’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack,” Rick sighs, hands on his hips. Could it be that Impala hasn’t arrived yet?

When his comment is met with silence, he glances over at Daryl, only to see the boy’s attention trained towards the back of the diner. Rick turns around and follows his gaze, finding a young boy looking to be around their age huddled in a booth in the corner. He has the most vivid green eyes Rick has ever seen, his short-cut brown hair suiting his features. He’s honestly surprised he hadn’t noticed the other teen sooner, but despite how stunning the boy is, something else captures Rick’s attention. There is a controller on the table. Partially hidden by his arm, but it’s definitely there.

“Daryl,” Grimes breathes out, reaching out for Daryl only for his hand to grasp at nothing.

Looking over, Rick realizes the Dixon is no longer beside him. Rather, he’s already out the door and heading towards the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Happy New Year! 2018 is in full swing and so are we with our favorite pairing Daryl and Dean. 
> 
> On a side note, we own PS3s and it’s the only reference we have to online game chatting. Hope it wasn’t confusing or anything.
> 
> Happy reading!


	2. Part II - CROSSBOW-SAINTS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He's a hundred times better than anything we expected," Rick continues regardless. "Not some nine year old and definitely not some creepy old man. Hell, if you ask me, he's actually really hot."
> 
> Daryl purses his lips, "He is, but I ain't."
> 
> "What?"
> 
> The Dixon's blue eyes finally find Rick's, Grime's attention momentarily stolen by how watery they look, "Why would he want to meet someone so ugly?"

“He stood you up? What an ass!”

Dean watches his brother pace back and forth in the motel room, practically blowing fire through his mouth. He’s only seen Sam like this once before, and that had been when John refused to sign a permission slip so that he can go on a field trip with his class. Though, if Dean has to admit, Sam seems to argue with his father for the sake of arguing these days.

Funny thing is, this isn’t as bad as when they left after waiting for three hours for CROSSBOW-SAINTS to arrive. The place had been crowded, people entering and exiting all day long, him and Sam the only two waiting. Sam had eventually fallen asleep on the table, and if he wouldn’t have woken up and argued with Dean, telling him CROSSBOW-SAINTS won’t come, the older Winchester is sure he would still be there.

His brother had been pissed in the car, but had fallen asleep during the ride back, possibly because he had wasted a lot of energy raging his little head out- which only lead to waking up with renewed anger when they arrived at the motel they are staying at.

Seeing Sam reach for his controller, the older Winchester dives towards his brother, fumbling with him before taking it away from him. “What are you doing?” Dean accuses, eyes wide as he regards his brother with a furrow of his brow.

“What does it look like? I’m going to send him a nice message then delete him from your friends list. Block him too,” Sam adds as an afterthought before he continues, “The guy obviously doesn’t care about you. Why should you!?”

Dean shakes his head, and by the way Sam is crossing his arms over his chest, the older Winchester can tell he knows what Dean will say, which is no surprise since he’s been telling Sam the same thing since they left the diner.

“He’s not like that. Something must have happened,” Dean counters, watching his brother’s frown deepen. “He- something must have happened.”

“Then why hasn’t he answered you?” Sam presses.

Dean glances at the gaming system before he looks up at Sam, a small but pained smile taking his lips, “Like I said, something must have happened.”

“Yeah, he played you. Stood you up,” Sam snaps as he shakes his head, not understanding how his brother doesn’t see the picture.

Though, as much as he fights with Dean, he hates to see his brother look so down. He hates it more when Dean forces a smile on his lips, as if everything is alright when it's not. He does it when Dad returns drunk, when they have no food, and when Sam and John get in a serious fight. Dean tries to reassure Sam everything is alright, but that smile, Sam knows it too well by now.

 _It’s alright_. Sometimes Sam wants to shake his head and tell Dean, _no, it’s not_.

The younger Winchester reaches over and places his hand on Dean’s shoulder, a small smile tugging at his lips. Dean smiles back, a little brighter now, but Sam knows it’s because he’s smiling at his brother. Dean would do anything for him.

“Why don’t you show me how to play this crappy game?” Sam teases his brother. “Plus, I think there is leftover pie. You can have my slice.”

At those words Dean nods his head. With the smile still on his lips, Sam heads towards the fridge as Dean sits on the bed, eyes downcast as he stares at the gaming system.

 

* * *

 

_By the time Rick had climbed into the driver's seat, Daryl had already been slouching in the passenger side, arms crossed over his chest as he glares a hole into the glove compartment._

_"Daryl," the curly haired boy starts before he's cut off._

_"Let's go," the Dixon huffs, gaze still trained in front of him._

_"He's a hundred times better than anything we expected," Rick continues regardless. "Not some nine year old and definitely not some creepy old man. Hell, if you ask me, he's actually really hot."_

_Daryl purses his lips, "He is, but I ain't."_

_"What?"_

_The Dixon's blue eyes finally find Rick's, Grime's attention momentarily stolen by how watery they look, "Why would he want to meet someone so ugly?"_

He hadn't realized he had been staring at his steering wheel for the past five minutes until there's a knock on his window, Rick blinking back to reality and glancing up to see Shane.

Rolling down his window, Grimes nods at his friend, “What’s up?”

“What’s up? I should be asking you that. You’re just sitting in your car, man. It’s weird,” Walsh states before he lifts a brow, glancing over his shoulder back towards the school. “Oh wait, waiting for Dixon, aren’t you?”

Rick shakes his head, “Nah. Didn’t show up at school today.”

“Well I’ll be,” Shane snorts, resting his arm on the hood of Rick’s car as he leans forward, grin plastered on his face. “Finally realized it’s a waste of time and dropped out to follow in the footsteps of his druggie brother?”

Anger flashes across Grime’s face, Shane recognizing it in an instant, “He’s graduating next week. With me. With you and the rest of our damn class and he’s gonna go to college.”

Walsh rolls his eyes, “Yeah sure, you keep telling yourself that.”

“I will,” Rick is quick to respond. “Now if you excuse me, I’m gonna go visit him.” At the frown spreading across Shane’s face, he adds, “Is that a problem?”

“Nah man, you do whatever the hell you want,” Walsh shakes his head as he backs away from the car.

Rick takes it as his cue to leave, so he does.

 

* * *

 

Daryl lives in the outskirts of town, in the backwoods of Georgia. Not a drive Rick takes everyday, not that he’d have to since Daryl would just go home with Rick after school and stay the night. The Dixon’s father is unpredictable and the less he sees of Daryl, the less the man can hurt him.

Just the fact that Daryl hadn’t been at school had been enough to make Rick uneasy, the feeling not going away even as he turns into the Dixon’s gravel driveway.

Will Dixon’s truck isn’t there, Rick hopping out and making his way up the old cement blocks that serve as stairs up to the trailer.

Knocking on the door, Grimes calls out, “Daryl?” He receives no response, knocking harder. “Daryl? It’s me, Rick.”

Pressing his ear to the door, Rick is sure he hears shuffling around before the door cracks open a bit, recognizing the blue eye that peeks out at him.

“What’cha want?” the Dixon mumbles.

“Daryl-” Rick starts before he cuts himself off, brow furrowing as he notes the discoloration around his friend’s eye. “What happened to your eye?” Not waiting for Daryl to respond, Rick pushes the rest of the door open and steps in, ignoring his friend’s protests.

“The hell, Rick,” Daryl grumbles, Rick swatting his hand to the side so that he can see his friend’s bruised face.

The Dixon’s right eye is swollen, a black and blue in the making. His bottom lip is busted and Rick can tell by the way Daryl holds his arm close to his side and is unable to stand up straight that his ribs must be hurting.

Rick clenches his fists, frown etched on his features, “What happened?”

“You know what happened,” Daryl returns, waving a hand in the air in dismissal. At the way Rick takes a deep breath, chest rising in that way of his that indicates he’s trying to hold back his anger, the Dixon adds, “Man, just let it go. Don’t matter.”

That isn’t helping. “The hell it does!” Rick quips.

“Ain’t none of yer business. You’ll be packing up in a few weeks and leavin’ me behind anyway,” Daryl snaps.

Grimes shakes his head, “That has nothing to do with this. You’re my friend Daryl and until you’re outta this shitty house, I’m gonna worry. We’re leaving this town together.”

Daryl snorts, “No, Rick, you’re leavin’ on your own.”

“No, I-”

“Ain’t apply to no damn college, Rick,” the Dixon admits, pressing his hand into his side as he shifts his weight from one leg to the other. "Ain’t bother. Who'd want a stupid, good for nothing redneck?"

"That's not true and you know it. You're smart, Daryl," Grimes huffs.

"Don't matter. I'mma Dixon," Daryl shrugs.

Rick shakes his head, brows furrowed, "Since when do you talk like that?"

"Since I realized I'm stupid for thinking I'm any good. You think any of those damn colleges woulda accepted me? You think Impala would have been happy to see me? Saved him the disappointment."

"Daryl-”

“No, Rick, you listen to me,” the Dixon interrupts him. “Ain’t your charity case. I’mma deal with my shit and you deal with yours. Go on to your fancy college.”

Rick huffs in frustration, about ready to pull his hair out, “You were never a charity case. You’re my friend!”

“And you can make new ones,” the Dixon snaps. “You ain’t gonna return to this shitty town. Not for me. Not for anyone.”

“We were supposed to leave together,” Rick hisses through clenched it.

“Weren’t ever gonna be that easy for me and you know it!”

“It won’t if you don’t even try,” Grimes counters. “Didn’t even try applying. Didn’t even at least walk up to Impala. How the hell do you know you wouldn’t have been accepted? A buncha rednecks go to college, Daryl, you're not the only one. And how the hell do you know what Impala would have thought at seeing you?”

“A guy like that wouldn’t think twice ‘bout looking the other way,” the Dixon huffs, shaking his head.

Rick clenches his jaw, nostrils flaring, “Y’know Daryl, you talk all this crap ‘bout people not giving you a chance cause you’re a Dixon, but you’re the one that doesn’t give people chances.” Daryl blinks up at him, Grimes taking a step closer as he drives the point home. “You had a chance to make something of yourself. Leave, study, whatever and all you had to do was apply, and why didn’t you? Cause you _assumed_ they wouldn’t accept you. And Impala, damn Daryl. I’m not blind. I see the way you light up when you talk to him. They guy went as far as to ask you to meet him. He was there, waiting, and all you had to do was walk up to his damn table and introduce yourself, but no, you _assumed_ he wouldn’t like you when it’s already damn clear that he does.”

Daryl shakes his head, “It ain’t-”

“Don’t care,” Grimes cuts him off. “Instead of assuming and turning down chances offered to you, at least _try_ Daryl, that’s all I ask. Might be pleasantly surprised one of these days.” With that, Rick turns back towards the door before he pauses, glancing over his shoulder at the Dixon, “Not too late to apply, y’know. And it isn’t too late reach out to Impala again. Just _try_ , Daryl.”

Rick slips out the door and lets it shut behind himself.

 

* * *

 

The grin Rick desperately tries to hold back doesn’t go unnoticed by Daryl, the Dixon shouldering by the curly haired boy and making his way up the stairs to his bedroom. Grimes doesn’t follow him up, something Daryl is grateful for as he turns on the gaming system and logs into his account, heart skipping a beat when he sees that IMPALA_2Y5 is online.

Steeling his resolve, Daryl creates a private lobby, one for just him and IMPALA_2Y5. Finger hesitating for a fraction of a second, he sends an invite and waits.

The user name ID Daryl sent an an invite to appears after a few moments. The headphones for the player is off, but after a few seconds a notice appears, Impala sending message.

IMPALA_2Y5: Hey

Shit. He came. IMPALA_2Y5 actually accepted his invite and came. It only serves to make Daryl feel even worse for standing him up the way he did. Grabbing the headset, he connects it, taking a moment to lick his lips and clear his throat before he speaks.

CROSSBOW-SAINTS: “Hey,” he mumbles softly before he clears his throat again, his voice coming out stronger this time. “Hey, I. . . I’m an ass ‘n I owe you an apology.”

Impala doesn’t place his headphones on, instead a message appears on the screen.

IMPALA_2Y5: Nothing 2 forgive.

There is rustling sound as the headphones are turned on moments later, as if IMPALA_2Y5 decided at the last moment to actually turn it on and talk to Daryl.

IMPALA_2Y5: “My dad’s asleep,” he says in a low voice, pausing for a few seconds before he continues. “Not holding anything against you. No need to apologize.”

CROSSBOW-SAINTS: “Nah, I do. I was there at the diner, but I… I didn’t know what to expect, but you were a hundred times better than anythin’ I could imagine and I...I ain’t nothin’ like that. Thought it would be better if ya just imagine me than meet the real me.”

IMPALA_2Y5: There is a snort on the other side of the television before Impala speaks up, though his voice is anything light. On the contrary, gravely serious. “How can you just decide something like that? I’m a bit surprised by you… never thought you would be the type to judge people before you meet them. You just assumed I would what? Not talk to you because of how you look? Look, I get assumptions all the time, I really thought you would be different.”

CROSSBOW-SAINTS: “Couldn’t help it, alright?” he growls in response before he catches himself. They say the truth hurts, but he’s got a rather thick head that needs information beaten into it before he can finally understand. “I did. I assumed and I didn’t give ya a chance cause just the thought of you being even remotely disappointed and disgusted of me scared me to death, alright? I can take it from everyone else but you...I couldn’t take it from _you_.”

IMPALA_2Y5: There is a silence on the other side. “You really assume a lot. You do know it makes an ass out of you and me, right?” Impala clears his throat. “You didn't want me to judge you, but you had no problem doing it to me, but even so, I'm glad… I'm glad you're ok.”

Damn, he’s right. Pursing his lips, Daryl runs a hand through his hair before he brings his thumb to his mouth to bite down on it.

CROSSBOW-SAINTS: “Didn’t mean to…” he starts before he trails of, pulling his thumb from his mouth to speak clearly, forcefully. “I wanna meet you. I get if you don’t want to anymore and I deserve you just saying no, but I...I do. I wanna try. I don’t wanna be like this so if you can...if you want to, could you maybe give me a second chance?”

IMPALA_2Y5: “I think I should be asking if you would give me that chance,” his tone is drastically different to the serious one he had taken before. Almost light. “I'll let you know when I can get away from my father. We can meet up then.”

CROSSBOW-SAINTS: “Yah, yah, whenever. Don’t matter when. Just tell me,” he’s quick to say, not bothering to hide how much relief courses through him.

 

* * *

 

It takes about two weeks before IMPALA_2Y5 can set up a date for them to meet again. He decides on the same place and time. It had still been the most logical since they both can meet halfway.

Dean finds himself sitting at the same table as last time, a drink in hand and this time without his controller. If CROSSBOW-SAINTS had seen him, there is no need for it. He keeps his watch next to him, keeping an eye on it. He’s not planning to waste his time again. His younger brother had been picky about tagging along, stating he doesn’t want to see him disappointed again. The older Winchester isn’t sure what made him change his mind, but as he was driving out, Sam had stopped him and entered the car without a word. His brother is now sitting behind Dean, reading one of his favorite books while Dean is sweating bullets.

The waitress comes by again, asking if he’d like a refill, to which he accepts. When she comes by again in less than five minutes even though his drink is still full, he has to shake his head and try not to sit there awkwardly as he stares at his drink.

When someone approaches the table again, Dean has half the mind to tell the waitress that he’ll call for her when he’s ready for a refill, except this time it isn’t a young lady, but a boy instead. A boy around his age with messy long brown hair, the bangs swept across his face partially hiding his sky blue eyes.

The boy purses his thin lips before he reaches into the pocket of his hoodie and pulls out his controller. “Impala?” he asks, voice low as if unsure of himself.

“Uh-” Dean finds himself stuttering, finally being able to see CROSSBOW-SAINTS face to face. “Y-yeah,” the younger boy pushes himself up as he outstretches his hand to greet him. “It’s really you?” he asks, a goofy smile taking his lips.

The boy glances down at the outstretched hand before accepting it, gaze skittering away from Dean's as he nods, “Mmhm.” He lifts the controller again, as if it should answer the question for him. “Said we’d bring these, right?”

“Well, I figured you knew what I looked like from last time. Reason we were bringing it, right?” Dean says with a lopsided smile. “Didn't think I needed it,” the Winchester offers Daryl a seat as he takes his own again. “You're very handsome,” Dean comments with an honest soft smile.

The boy blinks, mouth dropping open for a second before he snaps it shut and shakes his head. “Nah,” he denies. “Ain't gotta say that, but you...you're handsome. Like a model.”

“A what?” Dean can’t help but ask as he looks at CROSSBOW-SAINTS like if he grew three heads. “I wouldn’t say that, but thanks,” the Winchester can’t help but chuckle. “You're not what I expected you to be… um, look like, I mean. You’re not how I expected you to look like.”

The other boy nods, ducking his head as his gaze focuses on a crumb on the table, bangs falling across his eyes, “I know. I ain’t much, just thought I shouldn’t be so quick to judge, is all. It’s fine though. You can say what ya want. Got pretty thick skin.”

“You say that but you give me the impression you’re actually really sensitive about how people look at you,” Dean observes. The words, the sound, and the way CROSSBOW-SAINTS lowers his head speaks to Dean that it does affect the boy, even if he says different. “I thought you were going to be a chubby twelve year old who wants to be a pizza man when he grows up.” The Winchester jokes with a smile playing on his lips. “Turns out I was wrong. Completely wrong.”

Sky blue eyes glance up to meet green for a second before they return to the crumb, a small smile tugging at the corner of his thin lips before he lifts his thumb to his mouth, “Hard to compete with a chubby twelve year old pizza man. Sorry to disappoint.”

“You’re doing alright man,” Dean grins. “Though, for this friendship to work out, you have to be the pizza man. Man, I love me some pizza right now.”

CROSSBOW-SAINTS shakes his head, biting down on his bottom lip as his smile drops. “Can order some then,” he offers, leaning back in his seat to shove his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

“Can't have you do that,” Dean shakes his head. “So, um, what’s your name? If you don’t mind me asking?”

The boy glances up from the crumb for a moment before dropping his gaze again. “Daryl,” he answers before he adds almost as an afterthought. “Dixon. Daryl Dixon.”

“Dean Winchester,” Dean answers the unspoken question. Regarding the boy with a raised brow, he wets his lips before he’s moving. Slipping off his jacket he places it over his head, the only thing visible being his pink lips. “You can look at me now. Can’t see you.”

“Shit, no, ain’t gotta do that,” the Dixon frowns, sitting up and reaching out to grab Dean’s jacket before he catches himself and pulls his arm back to his side. “You ain’t the ugly one. Yer nice to look at. Real nice,” he tries, thumb back into his mouth as he glances around the diner, gaze finding Rick’s confused one as the boy sits up front at the counter. Attention back on the Winchester, Daryl fidgets in his seat before he grabs the hood of his jacket and pulls it up over his head, “Stop it. If ya wanted me to hide my face, I coulda done it. Shoulda just told me.”

“You’re the one who can’t seem to look at me,” Dean answers without pulling off his jacket. “And I’m not doing it cause I think I look ugly, or feel you do.” He pauses, “You spoke to me comfortably when it wasn’t face to face. Just wanted to hear you, that’s all.”

“It’s not - it ain’t you. I can’t look at anyone. Heck, half the time I can’t look at myself in the mirror so I can’t see why anyone would wanna look at me.” The Dixon takes in a deep steadying breath, “If I...if I look at ya and I see you lookin’ at me, I just don’t know what to do with myself.”

“Then this should be easier,” Dean states, “Can’t see me looking at you. I’m not bothered by it.” The Winchester explains, “Now you’re making me feel bad.”

"But I want'cha to," Daryl states before he can stop himself. "I want'cha to. If I didn't, I wouldn't have come. I know it don't seem like it, but I do. You're...the only one I want looking at me.” He bites down on his bottom lip, “ I’m trying and I… I’m _trying_ , alright?”

Dean peeks out from under the jacket, the smile dropping a bit as he regards the boy with a curious gaze. “You want me to look at you?” he asks, his voice almost hinting at something dirty. “Look, Daryl, I just want to talk. Without this on my head and that on yours,” the Winchester says while pointing at the hoodie. “But if you have trouble talking face to face, it doesn’t bother me to hide mines, really…”

“Ain’t gotta do nothin’. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with ya,” Daryl shakes his head, wincing when the motion causes him to bite deep into his thumb, tasting blood. He spares it a glance before he simply lifts his other thumb to his mouth. “Just do what’cha want. Look at me. Talk to me, or don’t - whatever,” he shrugs, reaching up with a shaky hand to pull the hoodie off his head, his already messy brown hair sticking up in odd angles as blue eyes cast quick glances up at Dean as if to gauge his reaction before settling on the table.

The Winchester slips his jacket from his head, green eyes meeting blue. “You graduated, right?” Dean asks as he leans on his elbows to be slightly closer to Daryl.

The Dixon nods, “Yeah.” He bites down on his bottom lip before gesturing with a nod of his head towards the other boy. “You?”

Dean shrugs his shoulders, shaking his head as he answers, “School has never been my thing. I leave that nerdy stuff to my brother.” The older Winchester hears his brother clear his throat, but he ignores him, “Looks the part too.”

“I do not!”

At his brother's outburst, Dean slowly looks back at Sam, his younger brother already wearing his _I screwed up_ puppy face as he slowly lowers his head until it’s covered by the book in his hands.

Dean places his elbow on the table as he pushes his hair back. Glaring back at Sam, Dean sighs before he looks at Daryl. “That’s my nerdy brother,” the older Winchester informs the older boy while throwing a thumb over his shoulder.

Daryl’s wide eyes are trained on the younger Winchester, “Oh uh...” There’s two of them and he had thought that just meeting one was going to be hard enough. Sure enough Impala - no, his name is _Dean_ \- Dean had mentioned his little brother a bunch of times, but he hadn’t thought he’d bring the kid along. “Hi,” he breathes out instead, feeling himself shrink back into the seat cushions.

The older Winchester wants to bang his head against the table, but he refrains, scared he might scare away the older boy. “Yeah-” Dean motions for Sam to come closer. “This is my younger brother, Sam.”

By the time he’s finished introducing him, Sam is standing awkwardly behind Dean, a smile on his face. He lifts one of his hands quickly, clearly feeling shy and slightly embarrassed at being caught. “H-hi,” Sam greets.

Dean grabs Sam’s hand and pulls him closer, guiding him to the seat next to him, “Sorry, I couldn’t leave him alone.” Though he had planned on leaving Sam behind, the younger Winchester reluctant to tag along this time, Dean knows he would be in bigger trouble if his father walked into the motel room and found Sam alone rather than not finding either of them. But it was a chance Dean was willing to take to meet Daryl. “Kinda had to tag along.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Daryl sees Rick shift in his seat, the Dixon already sure that his friend is ecstatic at the prospect of not having to sit this out anymore.

“Nah, it’s fine,” the Dixon shrugs, casting Rick a quick glance when the boy clears his throat impatiently. When Daryl glances back down to the table, Rick takes that as his cue to just jump on in.

“He ain’t alone,” Rick speaks up, pushing away from the counter to step over to the table, offering the Winchesters a brilliant smile. “I’m his ride, after all.”

Dean can’t help but give Rick a once over before he spares a glance at Daryl. “Oh-” he manages to say. “Nice to meet you,” Dean immediately adds, gesturing to himself before pointing at Sam, “Dean, and this is my brother Sam.”

“Rick Grimes,” the other boy smiles, offering Dean a hand, and really, he should just be on one of those commercials for Colgate or something, Daryl thinks. “Happy to meet you both,” he greets, tapping Daryl on the arm as he rounds his chair to take the seat beside the Dixon. “You have no idea how hard it was to stay quiet over there.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, “Apparently my brother couldn’t stay quiet either.” At the mention of his name and the attention shifting over to him, Sam practically disappears into his chair despite his size. “So, you’re the guy I keep hearing in the background?”

Daryl slumps further in his seat, quietly watching the exchange between Rick and the Winchesters.

“The one and only,” Grimes nods. “Get to finally meet your wingman,” he grins jokingly. “No but really, only got one system and it’s in my room.”

“Ah,” Dean glances at Daryl, “He never told me that. Well I’m glad he uses it. Wouldn’t have met him.” Green eyes lock with blue partially hidden behind bangs, “I’m glad I was able to.”

Rick glances between the two, noting the way Daryl’s cheeks take on a rosy color as blue eyes avert to the table. Blinking, it all suddenly becomes clear to him and he wonders how he hadn’t been able to put it together before. He’s tempted to elbow Daryl in the side, wanting him to sit up and speak, but he knows his friend, which also means he knows what would help.

“Don’t know the area, but I’m pretty sure there’s an ice cream parlor right across the street,” Rick starts, pointing out the window and sure enough, there it is. “Real hot today,” he continues, glancing over at Daryl. “Wanna grab us some?” Daryl furrows his brows, tilting his head to the side, but before he can say anything, Grimes turns to Dean and winks at him. “He’s gonna need some help carrying them.”

If at all possible, Daryl seems to sink down into his seat even deeper. What the hell is Rick doing? Trying to… trying to what, really? Dean wouldn’t be caught dead with him outside of these four walls.

Dean’s lips part slightly, as he first looks at Rick and then at Daryl. He had thought they were together, but it seems he’s wrong about that. A small smile takes his lips as he stands up, “Yeah, I can help.”

“Get me banana flavored,” Sam speaks up, earning an odd expression from Dean, clearly not being able to processes why his brother would choose banana flavored ice cream when there are other options like caramel, or fudge, or even cookies and cream.

“Great,” Rick grins, elbowing his friend in the side and prompting Daryl to stand up as well. “Butter pecan if you would be so kind.” He tilts his head to the side, wagging his brows as he glances pointedly at Dean before offering the Dixon a sly grin. “Try not to let it melt before getting back, yeah?”

The glare Daryl shoots Rick is enough to make any sane person clamp their mouth shut and shrink away, but not Grimes. Oh no, the boy has thick skin. Rick simply smiles up at him and offers him a wink before turning back to Sam, mentioning something about the paper menu having some kind of word puzzle printed on the back.

Daryl leads the way out the diner, head hanging low before he remembers that Dean had in fact offered to accompany him. Pausing in his tracks, the Dixon glances over his shoulder at the boy, waiting for him to catch up before he falls into step with him.

“Ain’t really need to tag along. Coulda managed,” Daryl shrugs before he mentally kicks himself. That sounds like if he hadn’t wanted the Winchester to accompany him and that’s the furthest thing from the truth, but of course he’s unable to control the words coming out of his flapping jaw, the title of asshole rightfully owned by his often brash and blunt attitude.

“You really think you could handle all four?” Dean asks, looking down at Daryl with a tilt of his head. “I mean, if you think you can handle it…” he doesn’t continue, leaving it open for Daryl to decide, though they’re more than halfway there already.

The Dixon shakes his head, “Nah, it’s fine, I don’t mind the company.”

Daryl purses his lips, wracking his brain for something to say before he realizes he doesn’t really need to. This is nice, just walking like this side by side, Dean in step with him as they cross the street and slip into the shop. The cool air greets them, fanning across the bangs clinging to his sweaty forehead and he realizes that an ice cream really would be good right about now.

“What’cha want?” Daryl asks, glancing over his shoulder at the Winchester.

“I can have one of everything,” Dean mumbles more to himself than to Daryl as he bites his bottom lip and looks over the different flavors. “I think I can go for the triple sundae,” he says, stepping up to the man behind the desk. “Can I get a banana sundae, a triple sundae, and a cookies and cream cone?” The man nods as Dean pays the man his money before he steps back. “What are you having?”

Daryl blinks up at Dean. “Triple sundae and a cookies n cream for you?” he asks, grinning as he tilts his head to the side curiously.

“Yeah,” the Winchester replies with a childlike smile, before tilting his own head, Dean regarding him with a playful suspicious expression. “Something wrong with my order? Don't like cookies and cream?”

“Nah,” the Dixon shakes his head, grin still tugging at the corner of his lips before he turns his attention to the man behind the counter. “Two rum raisins,” he orders, before flashing the Winchester a mischievous smile. “Don't tell ‘em it ain't butter pecan.”

“Lips are sealed,” Dean grins widely.

 

* * *

 

Before they know it they’re heading back, the Winchester licking away at his cone as he balances the other two with his one free other hand, “If he don't want it, I can have it and I'll pay you back.”

Daryl quirks a brow at Dean, “You can fit another one?” His blue eyes glance over the younger boy's body, down to his feet and up to meet green eyes. “Ain't look like ya got much storage.”

The Winchester furrows his brow, “I'm not scrawny. I've got muscles. And it's just ice cream. Don't tell me that would fill you,” he adds while lifting a brow at the older boy.

“It would,” the Dixon shrugs before eyeing the layers Dean is wearing. “Pretty sure you feel like ya got muscles cause you’ve got on five shirts. Maybe you won't need three ice creams if ya shrug some stuff.”

“First date and already demanding me to take off my clothes. Wow, Daryl, I'm impressed,” Dean says between snorts, watching the heat settle on his cheeks. “I'm not hot,” he clarifies.

Daryl freezes mid-step, blue eyes widening as a flush settles on his cheeks. “F-first date?”

Dean pauses as he looks back at Daryl. Finishing off his cone, he speaks up in a casual tone, “Joke,” he shrugs before he points out, “Your ice cream is going to melt.”

“Oh,” the Dixon mutters, gaze settling down towards the pavement as his shoulders drop. He nods before lifting his ice cream to his mouth, trying to hide the frown tugging at his lips. “Milkshake,” he shrugs, catching up to the younger boy.

Dean allows Daryl to catch up before he continues to walk, gaze finding his brother inside the diner chatting away with Rick as they make their way around the diner towards the entrance.

“You ever wish your life was different? Like… maybe if you weren't born so…” Dean cuts himself off, deciding not to pick up from there when he continues, “...things would be better?”

“Weren't born so what?” Daryl pushes, stopping again as his blue eyes search green, ice cream cones forgotten for the moment. Of course he's had those thoughts. Of course he'd wondered how his life would be if one little detail were different. If it'll be better. If it’ll be worth it.

“Worthless, nothing-” Dean cuts himself off when he realizes he accidently opened his mouth. The last thing he wants is to talk to Daryl about this, but then he finds himself doing just that. Shaking his head, green eyes settle on Sam once again, his younger brother laughing as he leans back against the chair he is sitting on. “He’s planning to go to college and I...I don’t know what to do,” Dean’s voice breaks a little, before he lowers his head and clears his throat.

Daryl is struck speechless, gaze trained on the occupants in the diner. On Rick. _He’s going away to college and I don’t know what to do_. Huh.

The first time Daryl had laid eyes on Dean, seeing him sitting there at that table, the Dixon had thought that there could be no way a guy like him would look at him given any other circumstance. Thought they wouldn't find any common ground, so instead he had turned around and walked out, but now, looking at Dean, the Dixon can understand just what Rick had meant when he told him he’d be surprised one of these days if he’d just try.

Shuffling his weight from one leg to the other, the Dixon clears his throat, “Rick is too. Goin’ away to college. First time...first time we’ll be apart in a long time and I don’t know what to do.” He licks his lips, gaze still focused on his childhood friend. “Wanted us to go together, but I...I ain’t even try.”

The Winchester looks at Daryl, tilting his head to the side, “Why don’t you go with him? I mean- it’ll beat having to part ways.”

Daryl snorts, “And do what? Barely make ends meet as it is. Ain’t gonna be much help to ‘em and besides...won’t have me there to drag ‘em down no more.” He finally meets Dean’s gaze, “Can wish all I want, won’t change shit, but I...but I ain’t gonna sit ‘round no more and just hope something good lands in my lap. Won’t know what can be _different_ in my life if I don’t try.”

Dean snorts, as he shakes his head, “I don’t understand you. You say you can’t make it, but then you say you want to try.” Green sharp eyes look hard at Daryl, “Which is it? Cause if you want to try…” his gaze lands on Rick, “...why not next to someone who would be proud of you when you succeed?”

“Cause a friend told me that one day I’d be pleasantly surprised,” the Dixon answers, blue eyes settling on Rick as well. “I can’t make it, least not to the standards people set, but then, I ain’t ever care ‘bout that, but that don’t mean I can just roll over and let life fuck me in the ass. I’mma Dixon and we go down fightin’ or we don’t go down at all.” He purses his lips, gaze dropping to the melted ice cream running down his fingers. “If and when I fail, it ain’t cause I didn’t try and I figure I’d eventually be thrown a bone. Gotta believe that or...or everything Rick has done for me would be a waste and he don’t deserve that.”

Dean can’t help but smile at Daryl, “You know, college isn’t everything. If you do decide to go down that road, I think you’ll do fine.” The Winchester glances down at the ice cream in his hands, grimacing when he notices how melted they are. “Sam’s not going to be happy,” he comments before he looks up at Daryl, offering him a warm, reassuring smile. “Hey, whatever you decide on, shoot me a message. I’d like to see where your story takes you.”

Daryl nods slowly, “Can I ask you something?” At the slight nod from Dean, he continues. “If I do finally get thrown that bone, a good one, what do you think I should do ‘bout it?”

The Winchester regards Daryl with a questioning look, a proud smile taking his lips, “You take the damn thing, that’s what you do.” No sooner do the words escape him that his smile drops, even if only for a second, forcing his lips to curl upward again, “Yeah, don’t let it pass you by.”

Daryl nods before he’s stepping towards the entrance of the diner and dumping both melted cones in the trash beside the door. He turns on his heels then, blue eyes meeting green before he takes in a deep shaky breath, “I’d like you to see, where I go. What I do, but...maybe from beside me?” He takes a step closer to the younger boy, reaching out to grab Dean’s wrists since the Winchester is still holding on to the melted ice creams. “Said I shouldn’t let it pass me by, right? I know we barely know each other and you probably think I’m some ugly freak or somethin’, but I… you’re a good thing in my life, Dean. One of the few. Have been since that first time ya messaged me. I have Rick’s friendship and I… I would really like yours too.”

Dean can feel the heat settle on his cheeks, really wanting to kick himself for wanting to giggle like a little girl who has had her crush look in her direction. “I- I can’t say no to that.”

“Really?” Daryl blinks, surprise etched on his features that Dean hadn’t just flat out rejected him. The Winchester’s smile only makes the heat in his stomach rise to his cheeks, heart beating loudly in his chest as he can do nothing else but stare into emerald green.

“Just kiss him already!” a muffled voice reaches their ears, Daryl glancing over to see Rick’s exasperated face as he leans against the glass.

Rick blinks before he pushes away from the window, his own cheeks reddening at his outburst, except that Rick’s embarrassment has nothing on Daryl’s.

Dean can’t help but laugh, as he gives Daryl a side long look, “Well, his wish is my command.” Opening his arms so the ice cream doesn’t dirty the other boy, Dean leans in places a soft kiss on Daryl’s lips.

Somewhere above the loud beat of his heart in his ears Daryl can hear Rick cheering, and Sam’s laughter, but they’re easily drowned out as the Dixon’s thoughts are taken over by the feel of Dean’s full lips on his. His cheeks burn by how hot they feel, Daryl throwing caution out the door as he wraps both arms around the Winchester’s waist and pulls him closer, deepening the kiss. He tastes like cookies and cream, sweet and something that Daryl attributes to just Dean and he can’t get enough.

He’ll never get enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: And here is part two! Sorry for the late update, we’ve been pretty busy. There will be one more part - the epilogue - and that will wrap up this fic. Hopefully will get it up real soon.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Epilogue - DEAN & DARYL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That pulls a laugh out of Daryl, mumbling something along the lines of “dorky boyfriend” before he’s grabbing Dean by the hand and pulling him along into the empty room they had designated as their own, the mattress on the floor one of the few possessions they can call their own other than each other, and for right now, that’s more than enough.

Dean curses as he fumbles with the boxes he’s carrying, the damned things having a mind of their own as they crash to the floor. The Winchester sighs as he runs his fingers through his outgrown hair.

“Son of a bitch,” he grumbles, looking over his shoulder to make sure the other man isn’t here yet.

Quickly, Dean crouches down and picks up the discarded items, throwing them back into the box and flipping it over so it’s not on it’s side. At the sound of approaching footsteps, bright green eyes widen as Dean hops up and turns around to face his companion. His eyes land on Daryl, the man by the entrance to the apartment with another box he had gone to pick up.

“That's the last of it?” Dean asks, dusting his hands on his jeans and trying to play it cool.

Daryl glances down at the box at the Winchester’s feet before glancing up to take in Dean’s twitchy smile. “Told ya to just take two,” he comments, quirking a brow at the young man before he steps around him to place the last box on the kitchen counter. “Yeah, that’s it.”

“What do you mean? Everything is inside in less than two hours cause I was smart not to take one at a time,” Dean clarifies as he heads towards the fridge, looking inside and checking to see if they have any drinks. Grabbing two beers, he tosses one towards Daryl and opens his. “I like the place,” the Winchester comments, giving the space another once over before green eyes return to Daryl.

The Dixon snorts, opening his drink and taking a large gulp before he speaks up, “Just like it cause Sam’s college is down the street.”

Dean can’t help but snort in return at that. It’s true, after all. Though, the best part is that Daryl has no issue with moving into an apartment so close to Sam’s college. He had probably realized that would be the only way Dean would sleep in peace.

“Yeah, how did you figure that out?” the Winchester sarcastically questions. Pushing himself away from the counter, Dean makes his way over to Daryl, the Dixon leaning against the wall between the kitchen and the living room. “After Sam's orientation, I was thinking that maybe we can get the house together for a little celebration. Sam’s in college and Ricks graduating,” Dean explains with a shrug. “And, you know, like a house warming. What do you say?”

“Tomorrow, ain’t it? The orientation?” Daryl asks, glancing around the barren apartment before turning towards the other young man. “As long as it’s just them I’m down. Gotta lot of work to do tonight, then.”

A mischievous smile crosses Dean’s lips as he pushes Daryl back against the wall, “Well then, since it’s not even dark out yet, why don’t we kill some time now? Me, you, and that beat up mattresses of yours. What do you say?” he asks, leaning forward to nibble on Daryl’s lower lip.

Daryl grins against the Winchester’s mouth, his free hand settling on Dean’s hip as he pulls the young man flush against his body, “Said we had a lot of work. What’cha think I was referring to?” He tilts his head to the side, lips finding Dean’s jaw as he works kisses down his neck. “Fuckin’ ya in every corner of this apartment is a full time job I’m happy to do.”

Dean chuckles, tugging at Daryl’s vest as he pulls away just enough to stare into blue eyes, “Better be ready to work overtime.”

That pulls a laugh out of Daryl, mumbling something along the lines of “dorky boyfriend” before he’s grabbing Dean by the hand and pulling him along into the empty room they had designated as their own, the mattress on the floor one of the few possessions they can call their own other than each other, and for right now, that’s more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a bit to post, but it's finally here and this wraps up Telepathic Heart. Thank you for reading and we hope you liked it!


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